Surprise: Outback Proposal. Sarah Mayberry

laughed. “Maybe I should rephrase that. Can you eat chilies without getting heartburn?”

      “Oh. So far, so good. But I’m definitely more on the coward’s side of the chili divide than the courageous.”

      “Okay, why don’t you come over here and try the sauce, let me know if I’ve gone too crazy with anything.” He gestured for her to join him at the stove.

      She came to a halt a few feet away, and he dipped a wooden spoon into a saucepan.

      “Come a little closer so I don’t spill.”

      She stepped forward, feeling acutely self-conscious. She was standing so close now that if she inhaled deeply her baby bump would jostle him. He lifted the spoon to her mouth.

      “Blow on it a little, it’s hot,” he said.

      She pursed her lips and blew gently. She could feel him watching her and heat stole into her cheeks. She told herself it was because she was standing near the stove and she was wearing a turtleneck, but she knew it had more to do with how broad his shoulders were up close and how good he smelled and how acutely aware she was of all of the above.

      Desperate to get the moment over and done with, she leaned forward to taste the sauce. Tough luck if she burned her mouth. It would be worth it to gain some distance and some perspective.

      The flavors of rich tomato, fresh basil, subtle garlic and the perfect amount of chili chased each other across her palate.

      “Oh, that’s good!” she said, closing her eyes to savour the flavors.

      When she opened her eyes again Dom was staring at her, his eyes very dark and very intent. Her breath got caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat and her gaze dropped to his mouth. He had great lips, the bottom one much fuller and softer-looking than the top. She wondered what it would feel like to kiss him.

       Dear God.

      She took a step backward.

      “You know, I might go powder my nose before we eat,” she said in a high voice she barely recognized as her own.

      “Second door on your right,” he said easily.

      She nodded her thanks and scooped up her handbag on the way. She heaved a sigh of relief when she was safely behind the closed bathroom door. Then she dived into her bag and found her cell phone. Rosie answered on the second ring.

      “Aren’t you supposed to be in a meeting with The Bianco?” her sister asked, not bothering with a greeting.

      “I need advice. He’s cooking for me,” Lucy whispered into the phone.

      “What? Why are you whispering? Of course he’s cooking for you—he invited you to lunch,” Rosie said.

      “I’m whispering because I’m in the bathroom, and I’m in here because he’s set the table with flowers and linen napkins and he’s made gnocchi from scratch and there’s wine and he just fed me sauce and looked at me as though maybe he really does want to take a bite out of me,” Lucy explained in a rush.

      “Oh boy. I need to sit down.”

      “Me, too,” Lucy said. She put down the lid on the toilet and sat.

      “I’m freaking out here, Rosie. I have no idea if I’m reading things into the situation that aren’t there or I don’t know what,” she whispered, glancing toward the door.

      “Calm down. Let’s assess the situation logically. You said there were flowers. What kind?”

      “Roses.”

      “And linen napkins. And he’s making pasta for you?”

      “Yep. And there’s wine. And I think I saw some kind of cake sitting on the counter for later.”

      “He baked for you? Maybe I need to lie down,” Rosie said. “I can’t believe The Bianco is making a move on you.”

      Lucy sucked in an outraged breath. “What do you mean you can’t believe it? You’re the one who told me he wanted me. You’re the one who told me to wear the red shirt and that this was a date, not a business lunch.”

      “Yeah, but this is really happening!” Rosie said excitedly.

      Lucy closed her eyes. She felt dizzy, scared, even a little sweaty. She couldn’t handle this. She didn’t want Dom to look at her with bedroom eyes. She didn’t want to be aware of him as a woman. She was pregnant. A tiny little person was growing inside her body. Soon, she’d be looking after that little person night and day.

      “I think I should leave,” she told her sister. “I’ll tell him I don’t feel well and come home.”

      “Are you kidding me? Stay. Stay and see what happens.”

      Lucy clutched the phone.

      “Rosie. Be serious. This is not a game. This is my life. Isn’t it complicated enough already? I just signed a contract to share my business with Dom. If anything happened between us—” She broke off, shaking her head. She couldn’t even allow herself to go there. It was so absurd, so crazy. She still couldn’t believe that she’d seen what she’d thought she’d seen in his eyes.

      “But he likes you,” Rosie said, as though that resolved everything.

      “I don’t like him,” Lucy fired back.

      “Liar. If you didn’t like him, you wouldn’t be hiding out in the bathroom calling me because he looked at you.”

      “Rosie. Be serious. I just gave half my business to this man.”

      Rosie sighed. “Fine, be sensible then. Tell him you’re not interested. Get it out of the way now, off the agenda. That way you both know where you stand.”

      Lucy realized that every muscle in her body was tense and made a conscious effort to relax.

      “Okay, good. That’s what I’ll do, nip it in the bud,” she said, nodding her agreement. “Thanks, Rosie. I needed to hear that.”

      “Did you?”

      “Stop trying to be Dr. Freud. You don’t have the beard for it.”

      She ended the phone call after promising to call Rosie the moment the meeting was over. Then she flushed the toilet and washed her hands and eyed herself sternly in the mirror.

      The very next time Dom smiled at her in that special way or looked at her as though she were chocolate-coated, she’d call him on it. They’d lay their cards on the table, establish some ground rules and move on. Problem solved.

      Dom was dressing a salad when she returned to the living room.

      “We’re about two minutes away. Would you mind taking our wineglasses over to the table?” he asked.

      “Sure.”

      She placed the wine on the coasters he’d provided and hovered awkwardly beside one of the chairs.

      “Does it matter where I sit?” she asked.

      “Help yourself.”

      He brought the salad to the table, then served the pasta. Aromatic flavors wafted up from her meal as he placed it in front of her.

      “This looks wonderful,” she said.

      “I take no credit. My ma perfected this recipe over twenty years. All I did was follow instructions,” he said.

      He smiled and she searched his face for any of the heated intent she’d registered earlier. But for the life of her she could find nothing apart from friendly warmth and welcome.

      “You want Parmesan?” he asked, offering her a small bowl of freshly grated cheese.

      She sprinkled Parmesan on her gnocchi and took her first mouthful. It really was fantastic—the tomatoes tangy, the chili providing